


Settling In

by Linebreaker



Series: Raising Adam [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Aziraphale POV, Baby Adam, Gen, Humor, Ineffable Family, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Slice of Life, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linebreaker/pseuds/Linebreaker
Summary: Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find when he stepped into the nursery, honestly. There were several viable scenarios that he could imagine but none of them included stepping into the room to find Adam asleep in his crib with a large, black snake curled around him in a protective knot.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Series: Raising Adam [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465732
Comments: 6
Kudos: 161





	Settling In

**Author's Note:**

> The second installment in the Raising Adam series. Just a little slice-of-life to keep us updated on what the boys are up to.

The smell of black tea, vellum, and baby powder wrapped around Aziraphale like a blanket as he stepped into the flat. He breathed it all in and sighed in relief to finally be home. 

“Crowley,” he called, closing the door behind him and looking around. “I’m back.”

Autumn in London was well under way, the days growing shorter and cooler. The sun was already low in the sky, its warm light spilling through the windows and painting everything in shades of apricot and honey. Though it had been crisp outside, the flat was pleasantly warm. Aziraphale shrugged off his outer coat to hang on a peg beside the door.

It was still a little early in the evening for supper, but he was feeling rather peckish after a day out and figured that some tea would tide him over. He had miracled it into existence and was just contemplating on cutting into the _zwiebelkuchen_ he’d picked up last week, when he realized that his summons had gone unanswered.

Aziraphale blinked and looked around. “Crowley?”

The shop downstairs had been dark and vacant, towers of books looming out of the shadows like ancient guardians, and the flat appeared equally unoccupied. He frowned, considering.

While it wasn’t impossible that Crowley had taken Adam out somewhere, he thought it highly unlikely. The demon had been skittish and ornery around the baby since he’d come into their lives three months ago, only starting to warm up to him within the last few weeks. Today was the first time that Crowley had been left alone with him for an extended period of time, and Aziraphale didn’t think that he would take Adam out of the bookshop unless it was absolutely necessary.

So he began to search.

The flat wasn’t a large space. Much like the shop down below, most of the open area was taken up by heavy wooden bookshelves crammed with scrolls and ancient, moldering texts. While the cramped quarters didn’t make for the most comfortable of accommodations, it also meant that Aziraphale only had so many places to look for the missing pair. There was a small living room nook, consisting of one worn leather chesterfield and a coffee table now littered with toys and other infant paraphernalia. A quick check told him that the space was currently unoccupied. The kitchen was likewise empty, which left just one room: The nursery.

It was the only separate room in the flat and, up until recently, had been the bedroom (if only in name—Aziraphale wasn’t a being who needed to sleep, so he had been using it mainly for storage). Three months ago, however, he and Crowley had made the decision to convert it into a nursery for Adam.

It had seemed only right to give him his own space, seeing as he was going to be staying with them for the foreseeable future.

As Aziraphale approached the nursery door, he saw that it was closed and rapped his knuckles against it twice. “Crowley? Are you in there?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer, but he thought he heard movement from within. The soft rustling tickled a memory deep in Aziraphale’s subconscious, stirring up images of feathers sliding against one another and sand grating against stone. Brushing off the feeling of familiarity, Aziraphale knocked once more and, after waiting a moment with no response, he opened the door.

The lights were off, but he was familiar enough now with the changes in the room that he didn’t need them. The walls would still be the same pleasing shade of duck egg blue they’d chosen months ago; the carpet would still white and plush, fibers dragging beneath the soles of his Oxfords; and there would still the pale wooden furniture scattered about the space. It was all rather quaint—Aziraphale didn’t need the lights on to know that. He stepped in and let his eyes adjust, gaze sweeping around the room before it eventually landed on the crib.

He blinked hard.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find, honestly. Maybe Crowley sitting in the armchair that he’d miracled into existence a few weeks ago, rocking Adam to sleep. Or perhaps he’d be pacing around, his bare feet sweeping across the carpet, nervously feeding the baby his afternoon bottle. There were several viable scenarios that Aziraphale could imagine but none of them included stepping into the room to find Adam asleep in his crib with a large, black snake curled around him in a protective knot.

At the sound of his entrance, two huge, lamp-like eyes appeared out of the mass of coils like embers flaring from within a dying campfire. They scanned over him as he stood in the doorway, their slitted pupils dilating. Then the snake’s black tongue darted out. It curled up over its snout, tasting the air with an agitated flick.

Through the haze of shock that had flooded his system, numbing his limbs and blackening the edges of his vision, Aziraphale realized that Crowley was scenting him. He stayed where he was, hands flexing feebly at his sides. In his serpent form, Crowley’s sense of smell was far better than his sight. Aziraphale wanted to give him time to realize that he wasn’t an intruder.

He was a massive snake, after all.

A few moments passed and the demon seemed to recognize him, his coiled body relaxing. His scales smoothed themselves out, rattling against each other like cards being shuffled into an orderly deck, and Aziraphale realized this was the sound he’d heard through the door.

Crowley lifted his head, cocking it to one side like a dog. “ _Assssssiraphale?_ ” he asked in a sibilant voice.

“Yes, it’s me,” Aziraphale said, slowly making his way over to the crib and looking down into it. Crowley watched him as he approached, tongue flickering occasionally.

_“Yooou’re hhhhhhhome_.”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, a surprising warmth suffusing his chest and chasing out the last of the toxic adrenaline. “I am. And, my dear, I do have to say that this is rather unexpected,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “You, cuddled up with the Antichrist.”

Crowley puffed up in offense.

“ _Shhhhhhhut up!_ ” The demon’s eyes skittered away from him and the tip of his tail quivered in agitation, rattling softly against the mattress. Aziraphale was sure that, had snakes the ability to blush, Crowley would be doing so. He chuckled but valiantly refrained from teasing the demon any further. Instead, he redirected his focus to Adam.

The baby was sound asleep on his back, the thick bands of Crowley’s body encircling him like a nest. His arms were splayed on either side of his head, hands curled into fists; Aziraphale took a moment to marvel at his tiny fingernails, so much like his own. Ignoring Crowley’s hiss of displeasure, the angel reached out and smoothed down the wisps of blond, downy hair that curled across Adam’s forehead. He didn’t stir, peaceful in his slumber with the Serpent of Eden watching over him. Beneath his blue-striped onesie, his chest rose and fell in little flutters, and when Aziraphale rested his hand there, the Antichrist’s heartbeat was strong and sure and strangely human.

Not for the first time, Aziraphale found himself wondering how something so small and innocent could potentially be responsible for the downfall of humanity.

He felt Crowley watching him again but did not move; just kept his hand flat against Adam’s chest. The three of them stayed like that for a long moment, hung in a quiet tableau of familial normalcy. Then Aziraphale chuckled and lifted his hand, running one knuckle across the top of Crowley’s broad head. The scales slid beneath his finger, oil-slick and warm.

“You old softy,” he murmured, his chest full of some indefinable emotion.

Crowley jostled in irritation, his scales bristling. He pulled his head beneath the coils of his own body, so that only the tip of his snout was visible. Aziraphale couldn’t help but liken it to the demon hiding his face in his hands.

“ _Ammmm not!_ ” Crowley hissed in indignation. Aziraphale huffed a breath of laughter at him.

“If you insist, dear,” he said amicably. He went to retract his hand before the serpent decided to take a bite at him but paused at Crowley’s next words.

“ _Not ssssssssoft. Hhhhheadache._ ”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, concern seeping under his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck. If that were true, it would be the fourth one that Crowley had suffered this month. Headaches were something of a rarity amongst angels and demons, as far as he was aware, so Crowley having them clustered together like this was a little alarming. Especially since he hadn’t seemed to experience them much before they’d taken Adam in. “Is that why you’re, um—in this form?”

“ _Yessssss_ ,” Crowley said, his head still hidden. “ _Like thissssss, everythhhing isss lessssssss._ ”

“Less?”

“ _Lessssss color. Lessssss noissse. Jusssst—_ ” He paused, as if trying to formulate a better explanation. “ _Jusst lesssssss._ ”

Aziraphale nodded, even though Crowley couldn’t see him, still hiding within his own coils as he was.

It made sense, he supposed. The reptile brain was far less complex, so it probably made it easier for him to process things like pain. He knew, however, that Crowley didn’t particularly like staying as serpent for long. He’d told Aziraphale once that he was always a little afraid that he wouldn’t remember how to turn back into his preferred, human form and would be stuck like a snake forever.

The thought concerned Aziraphale, too.

“Would you like me to get rid of that headache for you?” he offered, holding his hand out, palm up. “That way you can change back.”

This was something he had grown used to over the course of their friendship: healing Crowley. The demon had never been great at regenerative magic, so he’d always relied on Aziraphale to mend his scrapes and bruises, and to spirit away his occasional hangovers. It wasn’t something that Aziraphale minded doing, but he did often find himself worrying about his companion’s well-being.

The coils of the snake’s body shifted around and one yellow eye peek out at him. “ _Yesssssssss, angel_ ,” Crowley hissed in answer and Aziraphale fought down a smile, despite his worry. 

Making sure not to disturb Adam, he placed his hand down against the crib’s mattress, knuckles dragging lightly over the cotton sheets. After a moment, Crowley came slithering over. Despite six-thousand years of acquaintance, Aziraphale couldn’t help the little thrill of fear that ran down his spine when the demon’s jaw slid into the waiting cup of his palm. It was some ingrained angelic response and it dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving him feeling ridiculous.

Crowley wouldn’t harm him.

With a brief roll of his eyes at himself, Aziraphale focused on the broad, reptilian head in his hand. It had been a long time since he’d seen Crowley’s other form and he took a moment to appreciate it. Geometric plates divided the snake’s head into symmetrical portions, the seams nearly invisible in the dim of the room. The wide scutes of Crowley’s chin and neck slid against his palm, rippling like an exquisite fabric, and Aziraphale felt tiny puffs of breath against the delicate skin of his wrist.

He swallowed, suddenly distracted.

Trying to refocus, Aziraphale ran his thumb just behind Crowley’s eye, where his temple might be in human form. The angel grounded himself in the distinct topography formed by the tiny peaks and valleys of the scales there, then let a pulse of healing energy pass through his fingers.

Crowley shivered. The tension that had been curled beneath his scales dissipated suddenly, sloughing off as easily as shed skin. He hissed out a relieved, “ _Thhhankssssssss_.” 

Aziraphale felt the snake’s forked tongue flicker against his palm as he withdrew his head, and he swallowed compulsively.

“O-oh, you’re very welcome,” he stammered and stepped back from the crib. Crowley wasted no time in slithering over the bars and out into the open space of the room.

At nearly twenty feet long and as thick around as one of Aziraphale’s own legs, Crowley’s snake form was quite a sight to behold. Even in the dark of the nursery, his black and red scales seemed to glimmer and his golden eyes were even more noticeable than usual. He dropped down onto the carpeted floor with a soft _thump_ and, as soon as his tail was clear of Adam, he shifted back into his familiar, human form.

While he was fastidiously brushing down his lapels and straightening his waistcoat, Aziraphale took a moment to regard him. The demon looked exhausted. His face was pale and his red hair hung limply around his ears; there were purple smudges under his eyes, giving him a slightly haunted look.

“My dear, you look terrible,” Aziraphale said without thought. He instantly regretted it when Crowley’s eyes snapped over to him, his lip curling up to reveal several straight, white teeth.

“Well, thanks for that vote of confidence,” he snarked, pushing his hair back from his face. “Not like I’ve been hopping back and forth across London each day for the past few months, taking care of two babies.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes but resisted the urge to comment on how Crowley had hardly been taking care of Adam alone. Instead, smirked and asked, “How is young Warlock doing, anyway?”

Despite the heart attack it had given the both of them when Hell had first suggested it, Aziraphale now found it endlessly amusing that Crowley had somehow roped himself into caring for not only the actual Antichrist, but also for the baby that Hell and Heaven both _thought_ was the Antichrist. Warlock Dowling—the baby that had been given to the American diplomat and his wife. Crowley had been tasked with watching over him. Aziraphale suspected that it would have been a trying ordeal for the demon, even if he wasn’t also secretly looking after Adam.

Crowley glared at him and snapped, “He’s _fine_ , you absolute knob _._ Very infant-like. Maybe you can relate?” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips in a sour moue and crossed his arms. “No need to be rude.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said and looked away. Aziraphale figured that was as much of an apology as he was going to get, and he relaxed his stance. “He’s quite normal,” Crowley continued, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a pained look. “I’m actually going to have to get back to him soon.”

Aziraphale felt a little jolt of sympathy course through him, settling down below his rib cage. “I’m sorry, dear. Would you like some tea before you go? Oh, I was going to have a slice of the _zwiebelkuchen_ , if you’d like a piece?”

Crowley dropped his hand and looked at Aziraphale sideways. “S’that the cake with onions on top?” he asked, one dark eyebrow raising.

“Yes.”

“ _Blech!_ ”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You just had to say ‘No, thank you’,” he said primly. “No need for theatrics.” 

“Have you met me?” Crowley asked and then, without waiting for an answer, he closed his fingers around the air at his waist and dragged his hand upwards with a snap. There was the shimmering sound of magic, pressure in Aziraphale’s ears, and a sudden whiff of sulphur.

Then Nanny Ashtoreth was standing before him.

She was a construct of Crowley’s—an extension of his being that he could avail himself of when he had to deal with the Dowlings. Aziraphale wasn’t much good at transformative magic himself and he watched in appreciation as Nanny Ashtoreth straightened her bow tie and pressed her curled hair into place. 

Once everything was just so, she looked at Aziraphale expectantly, familiar yellow eyes flashing. “I believe you mentioned tea?” she asked, voice high and drawling.

“Theatrics, dear,” Aziraphale sighed and, with one last look at the still-sleeping Adam, he turned and headed out of the nursery.


End file.
